Deeper Than Blood
by Wilhelm Wigworthy
Summary: [!] This is not a happy story. [!] Parallel Universe fic: Harry and his twin sister, Eve, are kidnapped from a young age by Death Eaters who's intent remains unknown. Our story begins pre-Hogwarts with a young Hermione Granger as she attempts to make sense of the strange and inexplicable events that surround her. Plans to include all 7 years. Several characters OC. Rated T for now.
1. Chapter 1: A Death in the Family

**Chapter 1: A Death in the Family**

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The garden had always been Eve's favorite part of the manor. White cherub statuettes interspersed the foliage of rose bushes and cobbled pathways. The air was fresh, with the sound of birds chirping in the nearby trees. It was almost… relaxing. At least, in so much as anything could be considered relaxing within the gray stone walls of the Lestrange estate. Light wind tousled the green hands of the juniper bushes, making them dance and wave. Eve allowed the corners of her mouth to twitch up into an almost smile, brightening her otherwise pale face. She sat on one of the low marble benches in a private little alcove secluded from the rest of the garden by three walls of hedges. Hands folded over on the lap of her blue patterned dress, she breathed a slow steady breath and listened intently.

Footsteps could be heard growing louder, muffled slightly by thick grass on which the intruder tread. Eve rose quickly to stand as a man rounded the corner, spotted Eve, and his made way to her.

"This where you gone run off to then?" asked the man.

Eve lifted an eyebrow at the man, raising her chin ever so slightly.

"Now don' give me none of tha' sass missy." Said the man.

He was a large and rather unpleasant man. His balding head was speckled with liver spots and what teeth remained in his mouth had yellowed and rotted with the years. His nose was overlarge and bulbous, often reddened from too much drink. It seemed to have squashed the other features of his face to either side, leaving his cheeks and lips loose and sagging. He had a bit of a dumpy figure, which Eve might have been inclined to make fun of if she hadn't known better.

As the man approached her, Eve felt the sudden urge to flee into the maze of hedge work, but repressed the feeling and held her ground as the man advanced and grabbed her arm sharply.

"Jus' wha' do ya think the mistress would think if she ea'rd you'd been off hiding in the garden?" Asked the ugly man. "Might put her in a mood that might"

"I'm very sorry master Kimmle." Eve said in a stiff voice.

"None a' that now," the man slurred with false congeniality, "I told you to call me Leon"

He grinned a lecherous toothy grin at her.

Eve suppressed a shudder. She held herself stiffly as the man eyed her body with repulsive intent, as though he were gazing upon a large meal. Eve had never considered herself pretty. She was tall with a thin wiry frame. Her dark eyes, often narrowed with suspicion and distrust, were framed by curtains of long black hair. Still though, it infuriated her to think of this perverted old groundskeeper sneaking glances at her.

"Perhaps." She whispered venomously "I should just call you dog instead, that seems to be what your masters—"

The man smacked her viciously upside the head. Eve cried out and fell to her knees, Ears ringing to the excited birds chirping. The man sank down, grunting, and grabbed a fistful of hair, yanking her stinging head back viciously.

"Let me remind you," He spat, "if I'm a dog, then you are a slug. Dirt. Nothing. Why th' only reason we even keep you around is _Him_. Otherwise I'd 'ave my way with you tonight if I wished."

Specks of spittle from his overlarge lips peppering her face and the stench of drink filled her nostrils. Eyes watering, Eve glared daggers at the man, but said nothing. She should have known better than to speak her mind.

The man snorted and yanked her to her feet by her hair. The pain was astonishing and left spots in front of Eve's eyes. She gathered her composure however. _Never let them see you weak._

"Get moving then. We need you to go 'ave a chat with your dear brother."

He pushed her roughly in the back and she stumbled forward into a brisk walk. Soon they were leaving the bright garden for the cool walls of the inner manor. Eve tried not to let the dread fill her stomach. She would need to be strong. Strong for her brother, and strong for herself.

They hadn't made it 100 feet into the manor before a tall black shape detached itself from the shadows and revealed itself to be a the haunting figure of the mistress of the manor, Bellatrix Lestrange. She was a tall, forbidding woman, with hallowed cheeks, tangled hair, and eyes that bespoke her mental instabilities.

"Ah!" Bellatrix intoned in a singsong voice. "Little miss pixie. Thank you _so_ much for finding her Mr. Kimmle."

"I was jus' escorting the young miss to the dungeons, Miss Lestrange" Said the Groundskeeper in his silkiest voice, giving a half bow.

Bellatrix leaned down to talk in Eve's ear.

"Your brother," whispered Bellatrix conspiratorially, "has given us quite a bit of trouble lately hasn't he? Not taking to his lessons is he?"

Eve could not help shaking slightly as Bellatrix hovered over her. She could not bring herself to look in those crazed yellowed eyes.

"I don't know Miss Lestrange."

Bellatrix's hand lashed out and seized Eve's jaw forcing her head up, overlong fingernails sinking painfully into Eve's skin.

"You will look at me when I am talking to you!" Bellatrix shrieked.

Blood ran down Bellatrix's hand from where her nails had pierced skin. Eve desperately tried to force her face back into impassivity.

"Yes, of course mistress Bellatrix." She said in dead tones.

"There! You see Kimmle? They can be taught. All it takes is a little… persuasion."

She jerked her hand away from Eve's jaw as the groundskeeper fumbled his agreement. Bellatrix grinned manically down at Eve

"Now you go down there, and you talk to your brother missy." Hissed Bellatrix, "And If I hear he has been disobedient again you and I will have another little… talk, won't we?"

"Yes mistress."

"Good Girl! Off you go then." Bellatrix shooed them away in her singsong voice.

Eve and the groundskeeper walked quickly away from Bellatrix as she seemed to melt back into the shadows of the hallway. Once they rounded the corner, the groundskeeper let out a shuddered breath that reflected easily how Eve felt.

"Blimey she gives me th' creeps."

_Well,_ thought Eve dully, _At least I'm not the only one._

She kept such thoughts to herself however.

As they descended through the dark walls of the manor, past the kitchens and down into the cellar, the air grew chill and damp. They were now a long way off from the bright sunshine of the garden above. Only torchlight had ever graced the moldy cobblestone of the walls around them.

Down several flights of stairs and through an Iron grate, the Groundskeeper led Eve to a heavily strutted wood door set into the rough walls around it. Kimmle unhooked a set of keys from around his waist, ragged breath misting in the air around them, and Eve mentally tried to prepare herself for what she would see behind the door.

Kimmle unlocked the door with a sharp clatter of the iron lock and flung the door open, allowing a thin beam of the torchlight into the small chamber. It alit on the back wall and illuminated a small and disheveled figure slumped against the floor. He was bound hand and foot to the slimy wall behind him, head bent so that his greasy and matted black hair hid his face from view.

Eve stepped forward into the room and tried to keep her emotions under control. Her brother was starved and thin. His clothes were torn and disheveled, specked with grime and blood. Great bruises welled on his arms and more, she knew, lay beneath the tattered folds of cloth. The injustice made her knees weak. It was all she could do to keep herself from running to his side.

The groundskeeper removed a slim length of wood from his inner jacket, pointed at the inner wall, and muttered something under his breath. A sharp flash of light, and the boy cried out in pain.

"Time to wake up from your little nappy-poo Boy, you have a visitor."

Eve bared her teeth, furious, and rounded on the groundskeeper as the disheveled shape shifted and groaned on the floor.

"Get out!"

The Groundskeeper turned on her, the length of wood still held menacingly in his hand.

"Excuse me missy?" He said dangerously, "That sounded like you was telling me wha' to do"

"Get out." Repeated Eve. "Or I swear, I will walk away right now. Wouldn't '_Misses Bellatrix'_ just be so happy when you have to tell her I refused to help?"

The man's eyes narrowed, but behind them was a spark of fear. They stood there staring at each other for a long moment.

"Fine." Grunted Kimmle finally. "Go have your sob session alone for all I care."

He walked out of the chamber and slammed the door shut, plunging Eve and her brother into darkness. The sound of clattering echoed through the darkness as the groundskeeper fumbled with the lock.

Eve stood very still, letting her eyes adjust until she could make out the dim underside of the door from the torchlight. She let her shoulders relax ever so slightly now that the groundskeeper was gone. Then she turned to look into the darkness where the young boy was chained. She could faintly make out the rustle of damp clothes and the chink of metal on stone as her brother shifted into a sitting position.

"Harry?" Eve Whispered softly.

"Eve." Came the croaking reply.

Eve bent down and crawled forward over the damp stone towards the sound of her brother's voice, feeling her way with her fingertips until she felt Harry's knee with her hand. She sat next to her brother, against the cold cobbles, knees pulled up to her chest and bent her head into his.

They sat in silence for a long while. Eve knew she would have to be the one to break it, but for this brief moment, they could enjoy this fleeting minute of companionship in their chaotic lives. She felt Harry's ragged breath on her cheek and closed her eyes to the darkness, trying to recall happier times with her twin. None came to mind.

Finally Eve lifted her head and spoke.

"Why do you do this Harry?" She asked miserably.

Harry stiffened beside her, but remained silent. It was not her brother's way to be forthcoming. Silence seemed something he was born of.

"You know that they will just hurt you!" Eve said, trying to keep the desperation from her voice. "Harry, please."

She could almost hear Harry balling his hands into angry fists as he shook beside her.

"You know what they're asking me to do?" He rasped in a harsh whisper. "What they want _me_ to become?"

"I know—"

"You don't know!" Harry spat venomously. "I will never do that."

Eve said nothing, but waited for her brother to calm himself as the silence again filled the room.

"Did they hurt you?" She asked softly

Harry snorted.

It was always like this, back as far as Eve could remember. Sometimes there were good days. Days where they could almost pretend that they were not captives forced to the will of their masters. But always, Harry would refuse demands, be hurt and punished. Always they returned to this dark cell in the depths of the manor. Each time worse than the last. Sometimes Eve herself occupied the cell. Recalling those occasions still made her gut clench with fear.

"Is anything broken?" She asked.

"No" Said Harry, his sister breathing a sigh of relief beside him.

"Was it bad?"

Harry stiffened again beside Eve

"They sent Fenrir."

With a sharp intake of breath, Eve stiffened in fear beside her brother. It was with no small effort that she attempted to control the tremor in her voice.

"Let me see it."

Harry shifted beside her and pulled up the sleeve of his ragged shirt. He guided his sister's hand along his skinny arm to his marred and bloodied shoulder. With a deep breath to restore her resolve, Eve closed her eyes and relaxed her mind into the fuzzy area of glowing white power that she only seemed able to reach when her twin was near her.

She could not explain this connection between them, it merely existed. It had been a part of them as far back as either could remember. She could always tell when Harry was in pain, or scared, and vice versa. Through this bond she could ease her brother's pain by taking some of it herself. It was a trick they had discovered, well…, in the time before.

She felt the warmth spread through her fingers as they made contact with the broken skin on Harry's shoulder. Slowly, she eased the pain of the wound away from him. At the same time she felt a sickening stinging sensation begin to spread through the left side of her body.

"You lied." She said, unable to keep the pain from her voice.

"You didn't have to do that." Spoke her twin beside her.

"Yes I did."

Again they lapsed into dark silence. Eve wrapped one arm gently around her twin, side twinging. Harry's breath, while still pained, was steadier now. Together they sat in the dark, listening to the shuffling footsteps of the Groundskeeper outside the door.

"I will never do it." Whispered Harry tiredly. "I won't be a murderer."

"I know, Harry" Eve said. "How are we ever going to get out of this?"

"I don't know." Said Harry softly.

And these words seemed to echo into the black, repeating themselves over and over again in an ever spiraling mantra—

'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…'

The door to the chamber exploded inward with such force, that it knocked the twin's head's back against the wall. Eve saw stars dance in front of her vision as a tall, cloaked, foreboding figure entered into the room. This man, too, held a length of thin wood in his hand. Although she could not see, Eve recognized the dangerously silky voice of Mr. Crouch as he stepped lazily into the room.

"My, my. Now this _is_ a pretty picture." Drawled Crouch. "How ever did you manage to trick this imbecile into letting you in here alone?"

Crouch thumbed behind him to where the groundskeeper cowered piteously. Eve opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off by a wave of Crouch's wand. Instantly her mouth felt as though it had been filled with sand. She spluttered furiously

"Ah, but it makes little difference. Come now children, we must attend the ceremonies."

Harry got unsteadily to his feet, chains clanking about him.

"I'm not going" He said defiantly.

Crouch eyed him with amusement. "Oh really now? I don't remember asking."

Jabbing his wand at the boy, Harry was flung back into the wall where he crumpled into a heap. Eve let out a wordless howl and attempted to rush the man. Crouch, however, merely flicked his wand lazily at her. Eve felt herself lifted off her feet mid sprint and held, flailing, in midair.

"Do not test me girl." Crouch snarled. "You have played games long enough." He gestured over to where harry lay slumped against the prison wall. "Next time, I will not be so restrained."

As quick as it had come, the fight went out of Eve. Harry would not be harmed more on her account. She let her limbs hang loosely, still suspended in the air, until Crouch ended the spell and she spilled back onto the rough stone floor.

"Now then," said Crouch roughly, all trace of humor gone from his voice. "Let's be on with this."

He magicked loose the shackles restraining Harry and levitated him out the door and into the hallway. Eve, half sprawled on the floor, scrambled to catch up to her twin. Crouch marched them back up through the manor and into the great hall where several cloaked figures sat in the high stone chairs by the fire. Eve recognized Yaxely and the Lestranges. Icy cold fear spread through her aching body. _They wouldn't. Please. Not here. Not now._

"Ah good!" Cried Bellatrix. "Yaxely, why don't you go seat our guest? She's done such a favor to us."

The man named Yaxely strode across the room and seized Eve by the forearm. She was seated by a lone wood table in the center of the hall where she was bound and gagged. She knew not to resist, it would only mean more pain I the end.

"Best seat in the house love." Laughed Yaxely, moving back to stand with the group.

It was only then that Eve noticed the elderly man roped to the table eyes staring wide and fearful at her, beseeching help. She felt the bottom fall out of her stomach. The man had been beaten within an inch of his life. Great bloody lesions had been torn open across body. Eve leaned over the side of the chair and retched into the gag, eyes watering in fear and disgust.

"Enervate" Said Lestrange, pointing his wand at Harry.

Eve watched haplessly as her twin was woken and roughly yanked to his feet. Harry set his jaw and attempted to keep his weight, but had to stagger against one of the tables for support. The assembly laughed cruelly and Crouch spoke slowly and deliberately so that his voice rang throughout the hall.

"Harry Potter. Here we are again. Perhaps Fenrir has taught you some manners?" Crouch gestured across to the man lying bound on the table. "Here, Harry, we have a disgusting, unworthy, despicable specimen of a Muggle. A Muggle like your Uncle, Harry. A Muggle that has committed crimes against wizard folk. Surely you will agree that a man such as this deserves to die?"

Harry shook his head furiously, eyes blazing with the rage his weak body could not express. "I won't do it."

"Now there's a line we've heard before. Said Crouch sarcastically, "Frankly Harry, I'm tired of hearing it. So I think I've come up with a solution for both of us. A fair compromise."

"You will kill this man Harry. And in exchange…"

Crouch gestured vaguely with his hand.

Eve felt the bitter burning cold of a knife slice into her arm. She bent her head back and howled in agony through the gag. Bellatrix cackled madly over her, knife still dripping with blood from the fresh wound. Eve sobbed violently, tears running down her cheek as Crouch continued on.

"…We will leave your sister… intact."

Harry had gone white and attempted to run to Eve, but Crouch intercepted him.

"You must make a choice Harry. It is not a difficult choice. Only you can end her suffering. Only you can do what is right."

Crouch handed Harry a knife, which he stared down at unseeingly.

"I can't." He said helplessly.

Pain seared across Eve's left arm. A crimson streak of fiery agony. She screamed into the gag, kicking her feet in a desperate attempt to escape the pain. Her whole world was tilting.

"Stop it!" Cried Harry, as Bellatrix laughed insanely.

"Only you can stop it Harry!" Urged Crouch manically. "Kill Him."

Another flash of pain, this time across her shoulder. Eve's whole body felt as though it was being burned. She screamed out in agony, the gag slipping on her face

Harry panted, face white and screwed up in pain shared through his mutual bond with his twin. Tears lining his cheeks as he clasped the knife loosely with one hand.

Eve watched Harry turn to the man writhing on the table, who's eye's bugged with fear, and looked between the man and his sister.

"Don't do it Harry!" Cried Eve desperately, even through the pain.

"Next one goes through her neck boy!" Cried Bellatrix delightedly.

Harry stood over the man, knife clasped in both hands. He raised it high above his head, Tears pouring down his face.

"Do it Harry!" Shouted Crouch.

"Harry No!" Eve shrieked desperately.

The world seemed to still for a moment as Harry looked at Eve. All the commotion and noise of the room faded. Eve locked eyes with her twin, and in that moment she knew what Harry would do. Knew there had never been any question, because in the end, she would have done the same.

"I'm sorry" Harry said, and plunged the knife into the man's throat.

A thousand miles away a young girl named Hermione Granger awoke, screaming hysterically into the dead of the night.

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**Thanks for reading**


	2. Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening

**Chapter 2: A Rude Awakening**

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Hermione awoke screaming, her shrieks of terror filled the Granger's house, reverberating off of the walls in a disharmonious din. She sat bolt upright in bed, sobbing uncontrollably as the pounding footsteps of her parents feet grew louder on the landing. Horrible visions of the nightmare still danced in front of Hermione's eyes as she desperately clawed at the bed covers. The knife. The spray of blood from the old man's neck. The little girls sobbing shrieks of pain and dismay. The old man's gaping mouth gasping bubbles of frothy crimson as he desperately tried to cling to life.

"Hermione!"

The door to Hermione's small room banged open, and her parents ran inside. Her mother gathered her up in her arms and rocked her gently while her father checked the windows and peered down into the street for any intruders.

"Hush now darling." Soothed her mother. "You're with me now. You're alright."

Hermione clutched at her mother's dressing gown in terror and buried her face in the crook of her mothers arm, sobbing wildly.

Hermione's father, satisfied that the house was still secure, sat on the edge of her bed and rubbed her back in slow calming motions.

Slowly, the terrible vision began to fade, and Hermione's racking sobs became less and less violent until they faded into sniffling hiccups.

"What was it dear?" Asked her mother. "Was it another nightmare?"

"It w—was the boy again." Stammered Hermione miserably. "He was— He killed somebody. He had a knife and— and—"

It was too much for her, and Hermione collapsed back into fresh tears. Behind her, Hermione's parents exchanged worried a worried glance. Her father leaned in and scooped his distraught daughter into his arms.

"Come now, love. Let's take you downstairs. Your mother will put some tea on."

Her father lifted her gently and carried her out of the room. Hermione draped her arms around her father's scruffy neck, hiccuping and feeling slightly embarrassed. They moved down to the sitting room, where her father seated her on the couch and her mother went into the kitchen to put on a kettle of water.

Soon, surrounded by her parents, with a mug of hot spiced tea in hand, Hermione was feeling much calmer. The terror of the dream was already fading into obscurity; the sharp images of blood and an old man's violent death seemed distant and out of focus now.

"Hermione dear," Approached her mother tentatively. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes mum."

Hermione's eyes drooped as she sipped on the hot tea. She felt warm and sleepy, and it was not long before her father was removing the half-empty mug from his daughters slackened grip, less it spill over.

her mother covered Hermione with a large blanket, which she snuggled into, eyes half lidded, before her mother glanced meaningfully at her father and nodding to the kitchen. Her parents retreated into the kitchen where she could hear the clank of the kettle and the groan of the wooden chairs as they sat at the square kitchen table.

Hermione listened to their whispered conversation, only half awake, from far away

"She nodded off a bit quickly." Said her father.

"Yes, well, I imagine she was tired after that ordeal."

Silence.

"…and I may have given her a bit of something to help calm her down." Her mother said.

"Ah, I thought you might have."

she could hear her father sipping from his tea, as the kitchen again went silent. Hermione was almost asleep when her mother spoke again

"David, what are we going to do?" Her mother said

"I don't know dear." Her father said tiredly.

It was a conversation Hermione knew they had often. As a young child, she had been victim to occasional nightmares just as any other young girl. But, as Hermione had grown older, the night terrors had become more and more frequent and more violent. Often she awoke to visions of a young boy and girl being beaten or abused. These dreams, strange and horrible, had confounded her parents. They could not understand how such thoughts had gotten into their daughters head. The way they talked often made Hermione feel… tainted. They had cut her off from violent television shows, tried different diets, and long trips to the country. They had even gone so far as to alienate themselves from other parents with strange accusations of exposing Hermione to inappropriate shows or games. It made little difference in the end. The dreams persisted regardless.

"I think," her father spoke at last, "That it's time we brought Hermione to a specialist."

"David… do you really think it's gotten that serious?"

"Eli," David whispered exasperatedly, "She's almost 11. We thought these dreams were something that she would outgrow, but this has been going on for _years_. This simply isn't normal for a girl her age."

Hermione felt tears come to her eyes at this. 'Not normal'... It wasn't the first time she had heard it, though seldom from her parents. Her parents loved her, she knew, but there was no denying that odd things happened around Hermione of which the dreams were merely the most notable and the most persistent.

Once when she had been at her grandmothers house in London, she had shattered a decorative piece of fine china that was resting on the table, in an attempt to be helpful and clear the table for suppertime. She was amazed to find when her parents came running to her wailing despair, that not only was the china whole and undamaged, but that there now seemed to be two identical pieces of china, half the thickness of the first. Her grandmother said the pieces must have been glued together into a single piece long ago, and no one would listen to her when she described how it had broken on the floor only a moment earlier.

When Hermione was eight, she had been playing with a group of kids from the neighborhood when one of the other children had taken her dollie. She had tried desperately to get it back, only to find herself one moment on the street, and the next in her bedroom with the doll, a firetruck, and a toy from each of the other children. She had been avoided by the little boys and girls after that.

Everywhere she went, strange and inexplicable things happened around her. Could she really blame her father for thinking she was abnormal?

Her mother was clattering around the kitchen again.

"Lots of young girls and boys have night terrors David."

"Nightmares that are always about the same thing? No. Normal children have nightmares, but they're about scary monsters or something they saw on the tele late at night when they shouldn't have been watching. Hermione has nightmares about people beating children and committing murders."

"You're right of course." Her mother said. Hermione fealt her heart sink horribly."I wish that I could explain what's happening to her, but I can't."

Her mother paused. "If we are to do this though, I want us to find someone we trust. I'll not have some hack messing about in our daughters head."

At this her father let out a deep chuckle. Hermione felt numb and tired. she wasn't sure what to think anymore.

"Of course, dear." her father said.

It was a long while after her parents had retreated back to their bedroom that Hermione finally drifted off into fretful and restless sleep.

When Hermione awoke the next morning at her mother's prodding, it was to the palatable aroma of coffee and bacon wafting in from the kitchen. She was confused and groggy, but with her mother's tender care, a full breakfast, and a quick shower, she was soon feeling much better. As horrible as the dream last night had been, she found (as she often did) that the terrible details had faded into obscurity, leaving only a vague ache of her late night distress. Similarly, now that the dream was gone, it was easier to forget her father's words of the night before.

_This will be the last time I have these dreams_, she promised herself.

As she dressed and brushed her teeth, she wondered for the umpteenth time who these people were that plagued her restless sleep. Were they people from a movie? Perhaps she had read about characters similar to these in one of the books she had perused in the library. If so, she wished she had never read that book. The dreams were as exhausting as they were frightening and more oft than not left her brain in a state of half weariness.

Really, she just tried not to think about it as much as possible.

But, for Hermione. Such things were not possible. Her mind was constantly churning with ideas. All she had to do was relax for a moment and her thoughts would wander back to the abused dark haired girl, her brother, and the gloomy manor in which they resided.

Hermione was not a fool. It had already occurred to her that these dreams might be representative of some sort of inner psychological conflict. She had read about such things in in books she had come across during her trips to the library. But what demons could possibly possess her to have such freakishly vivid nightmares?

Well, actually, she could think of a few.

Perhaps the constant bullying and teasing she had received at school was a factor. Maybe she felt emotional distance from her parents despite their efforts to make her feel normal and accepted. And perhaps… perhaps there really was something wrong with her head, some loose wiring making her see visions in the deepest parts of the night.

It made her ill to imagine, so she tried to force the thought from her brain.

Consequently however, when Hermione finally descended the steps from the upper floor, it did not surprised her when her parents met her at the foot of the stairs and informed her that they were making a trip into town to meet a therapist. Her father had made calls to his colleagues at the dental practice and found a therapist that specialized in helping children with odd phobias.

Hermione tried to control her emotions as she put on her coat and shoes and followed her mum and dad out to the family car. Still, she could not prevent some tears from running down the side of her cheek. In many ways this latest update to her young life merely confirmed what she had feared for so long – she was a freak and there was something seriously the matter with her.

As Hermione began to sob softly, her mother, noticing the tears, closed the door to the car and wrapped her in a loving embrace.

"Th-there's something wrong with me isn't there?" Hermione cried into her mother's arm.

"Hush now, darling. There is nothing wrong with you." Her mother soothed, "We love you, and you are so special."

"B-b-but these dreams…"

"…are not your fault." Her mother said firmly.

"But I heard you and dad say last night…"

Her mother turned and shot a glare at where her father stood by the car.

"Hermione… You are beautiful and wonderful young girl. You're father and I are so proud of you. We are only taking you to see this doctor because we think she can help you with the nightmares, to because we think there is something wrong with you."

"Ok," Hermione sniffled. Her mother always knew how to calm her down, but she couldn't entirely shake the fear that she would meet with the doctor and be pronounced horribly inept or mentally unstable. _Or worse, abnormal._

Her mother ended the embrace and opened the back passenger door for her. Hermione climbed into the backseat and buckled herself in, trying to concentrate her attention on the project she was going to turn in on Monday rather than the large knot of anxiety tightening in her chest.

Soon they were backing down the driveway and trundling along the quiet morning suburbs. Hermione stared out the window at the blurred shapes of houses and gardens flashing past, but her mind was far and away from the deep greens and browns of the August scenery.

Briefly, Hermione considered lying to the doctor. She would say that the dreams were of a monster or some other _normal_ childhood phobia. But, Hermione knew that her parents would be disappointed with her if she was not truthful. She could not say why the idea of telling a therapist about the dreams made her so uncomfortable, except that she was absolutely certain that no little girl should be dreaming of murderous 10-year-olds.

She wanted nothing more than to be a normal little girl. She wanted nothing more than to have friends and people who liked her - people who would talk to here and spend time with her. But, she could never have these things, she knew. People did not understand her; were often intimidated by her.

Such thoughts clouded Hermione's mind as the Grangers drove from the suburbs into the bustling streets of the city. In no time at all they were pulling into a parking lot that had been crammed rather haphazardly between the encroaching brick walls of a law office and an optometrists. As they got out of the car, Hermione's father gave her an encouraging smile and squeezed her shoulder lightly as they made their way across the street to the Therapists clinic. It did nothing to help her nerves.

A warm breeze swept across the Grangers as they crossed the threshold into the cozy reception area. The room was decorated tastefully in mahogany reds with leafy potted plants and warm colored lamps and furniture. Thick walls dampened out the busy day noises of the street outside, leaving the lobby comfortable and relaxing. All of these things Hermione would have admired for their textbook quality had her mind not been otherwise preoccupied. She seated herself rather dazedly on one of the waiting chairs, her father seating himself beside her while her mother checked her in with the receptionist. As Eleanor Granger spoke with the aged and upright woman behind the desk, Hermione's father leaned over to speak with her.

"I expect you'll like Dr. Bradshaw," her father said cheerily. "Paul from the office recommended her very highly. Said she helped Racheal out quite a bit with her fear of trains."

Hermione made a noncommittal sort of wheeze. Her anxiety had started to get the better of her.

"Do you and Rachel still hang out at school?" her father asked, in an attempt to make light conversation.

"Sometimes we do." Hermione mumbled. Her father frowned at this, but did not press.

Truth be told, she and Rachel had not been on very good terms lately. Once they had been good friends, and often spent the night at each other's houses. But, she and Rachel had begun to drift apart a little over a year ago. Rachel had spent more and more time with other people – people that happened to be the same ones that teased Hermione mercilessly. Rachel never participated in the baiting, but she was not above laughing when Hermione was tripped in the lunchroom or had something thrown at her.

No, they did not hang out anymore.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione was shaken out of her reverie by the call of her name. She glanced around to see that a tall, formal looking woman had entered the room and was smiling gently down at her. She had a thin, lined face, and slim spectacles hung from around her neck with a gold chain. All in all, she had a rather forbidding look, reminiscent of a librarian. Hermione's mother finished filling out papers at the receptionist and walked over to stand next to her as her father got stiffly from his seat.

"I'm very pleased to meet you Miss Granger." Dr. Bradshaw greeted, extending a hand towards her. "My name is Dr. Bradshaw."

Hermione shook the hand mutely, not sure what to make of this strict looking psychologist.

"…and you must be David and Eleanor," continued the doctor, shaking her parent's hands. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I was happy to receive your call this morning."

"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice," Her father said. "We appreciate you working us in."

"It was no trouble," Dr. Bradshaw said, demurely. "If you're ready to begin, I'll walk you down to my office just down the hall."

The Grangers followed Dr. Bradshaw down the narrow hallway to a gild labeled, polished oak door on the left. Hermione stared at her feet as she walked, playing with the hemming of her shirt. She could not even begin to say how uncomfortable she was with the whole situation.

"Please, have a seat," Dr. Bradshaw gestured to the the seats by the desk.

As the doctor seated herself behind the desk, she opened up the manilla folder. She leafed through the papers inside, glancing up every so often. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the itchy fabric of the seat. She did not like it when people scrutinized her like that. It always made her feel insecure and generalized.

"So, I see here that you have put bad dreams and restless sleep as the reason for your visit today." The doctor bridged her fingers together in front of her. "Can you tell me when these dreams first began to occur?"

"A little over three years ago," her father replied. "At first we didn't think anything of it. We thought she had just seen a scary film."

"But I take it you determined that not to be the case?"

"When the nightmares continued," her mother interjected. "We did try to limit Hermione's access to violent TV and movies."

"I see..." Dr. Bradshaw addressed her next question to Hermione. "About how often do you have these dreams?"

Hermione fidgeted nervously in her seat, but tried to meet the doctors eyes steadily.

"A few times a week." She answered softly. "Sometimes I can go a long time without one, but they always come back."

The doctor scratched a note on a pad sitting on her desk. "When was the last occurrence of your night terror?"

"Last night." Hermione said, fiddling with her hands.

"Mhmm." The doctor pierced her lips together. "And if you would, could you please tell me what these dreams usually entail?"

Hermione felt herself flush in embarrassment. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. she looked nervously over at her parents, beseeching their help. Her mother smiled encouragingly at her and her father nodded his head. She gulped and tried to meet the doctors eyes.

"Bad things." She said finally.

"What kind of bad things?" the doctor asked. Then she smiled kindly. "Its ok Hermione, I won't judge you on what you say."

"People dying. People being hurt." Hermione said harshly. She was getting worked up. "I don't know why I see these things! I don't want to."

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder as she began to shake. This was going horribly, she just knew it.

"Miss Granger," Dr. Bradshaw said, "I want to assure you that what you are going through is entirely normal. Many young children experience frequent night terrors. it is nothing to be ashamed of, and I don't not want you to feel threatened in my presence."

Hermione felt herself flush, completely mortified by her outbreak. She sank down into her seat, avoiding her parents concerned eyes.

"Perhaps this is a mistake." Her father said uncertainly. "I don't want to do anything that will make my daughter uncomfortable."

"Actually," Dr. Bradshaw said tersely, "to be perfectly frank Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I think it would be a mistake not to go through with therapy. You may choose not to do it through my practice, but in my experience this is not the type of problem that will solve itself."

There was a thoughtful silence following this pronouncement. _Why is no one asking me what I think_, Hermione wondered. She felt her eyes start to sting with the beginning of tears and wiped them away angrily. She was not going to cry here in front of this strange doctor.

"We just want what's best for Hermione." Her mother said finally, looking at her father, then at her. "We just want whats best for you dear."

Hermione screwed up her face, trying to control her emotions. She could feel the weight of the adults staring at her.

"I just want the dreams to stop." She said at last.

"Of course, Miss Granger. That is what I wish as well." Dr. Bradshaw replied. "In that case let me explain to you the dynamic of my consultations."

The doctor shuffled some papers around and removed her slim spectacles, looking not at her parents, but directly at Hermione. Without the spectacles on she seemed much nicer and much younger.

"First of all, let me start off by explaining that I am not a miracle worker. I develop a relationship with my patients based on mutual trust and understanding which I use to identify areas of stress or trauma in their everyday lives. I do not subscribe to quick fixes or medications. Often times, you may find some of the questions I ask uncomfortable or invasive. It is not my intention to make you feel threatened or nervous. Know that, while it is at your discretion what we will discuss and what you wish to share with me, I can only work with what you give me."

"Do to the intimate and personal nature of these sessions," Bradshaw continued, turning to Hermione's parents "I would advise that Hermione and I engage in them alone. Often with children at Hermione's age, we discover that there are problems they simply do not wish to discuss with their parents."

Her father opened his mouth to say something, but Dr. Bradshaw, sensing argument, forestalled him.

"You are, of course, welcome to discuss anything that we go over with each other at your leisure. I do not mean to imply that there has been any negligence on your part as parents, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. I am merely informing you of a common trend in cases similar to this that I have dealt with in the past."

"Ah… Yes, of course." Said her father, slightly cowed. The doctor inclined her head.

"Now, that was my speech," Said Dr. Bradshaw, returning the spectacles to her face. "Do any of you have any questions?"

"What exactly does one of your sessions comprise," Her father asked, curiously.

"A large part of the therapy is simply talking," Bradshaw replied. "We may perform some exercises to assist me with my diagnosis. After I feel confident that I have a grasp of the issue, I will prescribe some home changes and we will go from there. Many patients find they feel better after even one session, just for having the issue aired. It can be a long and abstract process and it is different for each person."

As the doctor continued her spiel, hermione found herself relaxing a little bit. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all. It sounded as though Dr. Bradshaw simply wanted to talk with her. She was quite relieved to hear that the doctor did not prescribe medication. Nothing made her feel worse than the idea of something messing around with the way her head worked.

The sound of her mothers questioning voice snapped her from her reverie.

"I'm sorry?" She asked, glancing up at the adults who were all looking at her.

"I was asking you what you think dear." Her mother repeated. "Is this something you would try for us? You don't have to go through with it if you don't want to."

Hermione thought for a moment, staring at her hands, but glad for the chance to share her opinion. True, it made her uneasy to think of laying herself so bare in front of a stranger. But, unbidden and unwanted, the memory of the awful dream filled her thoughts. She hated the dreams so terribly.

"Alright," she said, "I'll do it"

"Excellent." said Dr. Bradshaw, clapping her hands together. "In that case, I would like to get started right away with our first session. It should not take long."

Hermione was already doubting her decision as her parents got up from their seats. Her mother squeezed her shoulder and whispered gently, "Remember dear, we're just outside in the lobby if you need us."

I no time at all, her parents had left her and she was alone with the doctor.

Dr. Bradshaw stood from her desk chair, smoothing the front of her lapel, and stepped across to the windows, opening up the shades to let in the morning sun.

"Do you mind if we speak over here Miss Granger?" Dr. Bradshaw asked, motioning to a plush maroon recliner near the back of the room. "It's much nicer to talk without a desk in front of us, I find."

Hermione stood from her seat, her legs tingling form where the wood edge of the chair had pressed against her thighs. She walked over to stand next to the recliner, looking down at it. Dr. Bradshaw had seated herself across from it in a comfortable looking leather armchair.

"Do I have to lie down?" Hermione asked the doctor, nervously.

"No. I would like you to do whatever is most comfortable for you," Dr. Bradshaw replied. "You may sit, you may lie down. You can stand if you would like. I'll keep my seat, though, if you don't mind. I find it much easier to write while sitting."

She gave hermione a warm smile, her wrinkles krinkeling together on the edges of her glasses.

Hermione glanced nervously at the legal pad Dr. Bradshaw had set on her lap. The doctor, following her gaze, correctly interpreted the source of her discomfort.

"No need to worry about this, Miss Granger. May I call you Hermione?" The Doctor asked.

Hermione nodded.

"Thank you. First names are much less formal. You can call me Joyce if you'd like."

Joyce adjusted her seat on the couch and extended the notepad for Hermione to see. She peered over to examine the yellow page. Written at the top was her name, the date, and single sentence: 'First names ok.'

"These notes are just going to be a record of the things we discuss while we are together, nothing more." the doctor reassured her. "You are welcome to read them if you wish to. It is becoming harder and harder for me to remember the fine details with age. I find writing them down helps me organize my thoughts."

"Oh, ok." Hermione said.

Relieved to discover that the notepad was just for recording the conversation, Hermione nodded and seated herself carefully on the edge of the puffy recliner and folded her arms over her lap.

"Now, then Hermione," Joyce said kindly. "Before we begin, would you like anything to drink?"

"Yes, please. Hermione answered, still feeling

Joyce got up and walked over to the bookshelf where a small tea set sat on the third shelf.

"What would you like for tea?" She asked, holding up a large rack with several types of tea leaf.

Hermione selected a mint tea and the doctor retrieved some cups from under the shelf. She sprinkled some of the tea leaves into the kettle and set it to steep on a small hotplate. She handed hermione a cup on a small saucer with a little silver mixing spoon. Then she set out a small tea tray with sugar, honey, and the water pot and reseated herself with her own cup.

Soon, with a warm cup of fresh tea in her hands, the sunlight streaming through the window, and the aroma of mint filling the air, Hermione was feeling much more relaxed. She stirred some sugar absently into her tea and watched as Joyce sipped at hers

"Alright then Hermione," Joyce said, putting down her tea and picking up the notepad "Let's get started shall we. To begin with, is there anything you would like to know about me?"

"About you?" Hermione said, surprised. "I thought you were going to be asking me questions."

"On of the goals of therapy is laying the foundation for a trusting doctor-patient relationship. Part of that process is getting to know one another. So, go ahead, ask me anything."

Hermione tried to think of something interesting to ask the doctor.

"Um… Are you married?" She asked.

"Not anymore I'm afraid." Joyce replied, smiling sadly.

"What happened?" Hermione asked. Then she realized how rude this sounded. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Thats quite alright dear." Joyce said. She looked away from Hermione. "Unfortunately my husband passed on some time ago. It was sad, but these things do happen."

"Oh…" Hermione trailed off. She really couldn't think what to say.

"It was a wonderful marriage," Joyce continued, relieving Hermione of the responsibility of responding. "Right out of the story books. We had adventure and romance. Quite lovely really, and over too quickly."

The doctor took another sip of her tea, glancing over at Hermione. "Do you ever want to get married Hermione?"

This caught her off guard.

"Of course!" she said, surprised, "Doesn't everybody?"

The corners of the Doctors mouth twitched upward and she raised her cup to Hermione. "Fewer and fewer people nowadays. Tying the knot seems to be falling from popularity."

"But," Hermione said, aghast, "What will people do if they don't get married. They won't have kids or families..."

She trailed off, trying to wrap her mind around the concept of people not getting married

"Surprisingly, that idea does not seem to bother people very much." Joyce said.

Hermione was still struggling with the idea. Finding her prince charming had been something she had obsessed over ever since she had first read cinderella. The thought of _not_ get married had never even occurred to her.

"I'm glad you had a good marriage," Hermione said at last. "Even if it was a short one."

Joyce smiled at her. "Thank you Hermione. That is a very nice thing to say. I'm glad there are still people that value marriage."

Hermione felt her cheeks glow at this, so she took sip of her tea to distract herself.

"So, Hermione, Tell me about these dreams you've been having. What are they like."

Hermione gulped down the hot tea too quickly and choked as it burned her throat. She turned away, embarrassed as she coughed and hacked on the hot liquid. Joyce seemed to become suddenly interested in the drape of the curtains.

"They're horrible," She croaked at last, trying to regain her composure.

"What makes the horrible for you?" Joyce asked, turning back to her and penning a note on the legal pad.

"They're scary." Hermione said, shuddering. "They violent, like a horror movie but more real."

"And in the dreams, who is this violence directed at? Yourself?"

"Yes, and sometimes other people. Sometimes there's a boy."

"What is the boy like?" Joyce asked her.

"He has black hair and really scary dark eyes." She said.

"And this boy, he hurts you too?"

"Oh, no… He never hurts me."

"I see…" Joyce trailed off. the doctor tapped her pen to her chin thoughtfully, looking at Hermione.

"Hermione, I'd like to ask you a few questions about yourself now. If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just let me know and we'll stop there."

"Ok," Hermione squeaked nervously.

"You said you get these dreams about two or three times a week, correct?"

Hermione nodded.

"Do they seem to come with any sort of pattern or regularity. Do you feel angry before you have them, or sad?"

"No." said Hermione. "No they happen kind of at random."

"How is your home life?" Joyce asked, switching topics suddenly. "Do you feel safe at home? Happy?"

"Yes of course!" Hermione said, annoyed. What was Dr. Bradshaw suggesting?

"Are your parents home often?" Joyce continued.

"They're home every day after 5." Hermione said, trying not to sound offended. "They're home enough."

"Both your mom and your dad work?" Affirmation "What do you do while you're parents are at work."

"Sometimes I go to their work with them." Hermione said. "I read books in the lobby. Sometimes if I'm good, my mom will drop me off at the library."

"Do you spend time at friends houses as well?" Joyce asked jotting all this down on the legal pad.

Hermione stopped and looked away. She did want to answer that question. She did not want to tell Joyce that, no, she did not go over to friends houses because, no, she didn't really have any friends.

Something to this effect must have shown on her face, however, because the Doctors next question was along the same train of thought.

"Are you picked on or bullied at school? Does school make you feel -"

Hermione stood up suddenly, her hands clenched. she did not look at Dr. Bradshaw. "I am feeling uncomfortable." she said to the window.

If she had expected Joyce to be surprised or get angry, she was sorely mistaken. On the contrary, the Doctor seemed almost a little relieved. "That's quite alright Hermione. We can stop here."

Hermione stared at her, somewhat bemused. It was over so quickly that she barely had time to register that she had just opened up to a complete and total stranger. She had never really been able to dictate the flow of conversation before with adults other than her parents. Joyce was something of a foreign territory to her.

The doctor picked up her tea and stood up to clean up the table. Then Joyce carried the tea tray back over to her desk, set it down, and opened one of the left hand drawers. She removed a small leather-bound notebook and brought it back to Hermione.

"For your homework for the next couple of weeks," Joyce said, handing her the notebook, "I would like you to record one of your dreams in as much detail as you can. Leave nothing out. If you are feeling comfortable with the idea, we can discuss it in our next session, but for now, I want you to do this simply for yourself."

Hermione took the book from the doctor somewhat absently. She helped Joyce clear up the last of the tea things. The visit had been nothing like she had expected. Short, pleasant, and non-intrusive. She had certainly not expected to find sunshine and tea, but mostly she had not expected to find the therapist so understanding, and so forgiving.

" I don't understand," Hermione said at last, as Joyce was beginning to pack up. "Why do you care about what I dream about or what I feel?"

Joyce smiled at her, readjusting the spectacles on her nose. "Believe it or not, Hermione, I do care about you. I care because I've been where my patients have been and I remember what it's like to not have someone who can relate to you. That is why I made a career of being a therapist."

"Oh," said Hermione, unsure of what to say. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome." Joyce said, taking her hand. "Come now, your parents are waiting for you."

Joyce took her back to the lobby where she was greeted with smiles by her overly-nonchalant parents. Hermione sat quietly, head buzzing, as the doctor took her parents over to the receptionist to make a return appointment.

All through the car ride home, something continued to nag at the corner of Hermione's mind. She answered her mother and fathers questions only with brief distracted answers. It was not until they had arrived back at the Granger house and were inside the front door that it clicked.

Joyce was the first adult, apart from her parents, who had ever treated Hermione like her own person. Her teachers, the librarian, the hygienist from her parents practice - everybody always treated her like a child, like she had nothing interesting to add or say. Even if Joyce had not been genuine, she had at least listened to the things Hermione had said. She had not laughed at her ideas or scolded her for being a know-it-all.

And as this realization struck her, she felt a hard knot rise in her chest. To the consternation of her parents, she promptly burst into tears, and it was some time before they managed to calm her.

* * *

**Thanks for reading.**

**A/N: I am currently looking for beta readers for this story. If you would like to be a Beta for this story, please PM me.**


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